


It is a Goodly Thing

by jesterlady



Series: Numb and Number [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oz and Spike go on a little mission, get captured and do some reminiscing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It is a Goodly Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Full Moon Ficathon @ trdmrkstoicism on LJ. Set in my [Numb and Number](http://jesterladyfic.livejournal.com/14772.html#cutid1) universe but this stands alone.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own BTVS. The title is by John Bunyan

It had been quiet a bit too long for Spike’s liking. While he wouldn’t say he always went looking for trouble, okay, he did, but he didn’t do so when more important things were on the table. That didn’t keep him from being incredibly bored. Violence really ought to be more considerate.

Wesley was in one of his research funks and had descended into his books with a depth that wouldn’t soon be got through. Spike knew it would  
be useless to try to use the Watcher to rustle up some entertainment. Oz, on the other hand, was almost as restless as Spike himself. He  
supposed they both had reason to be, but he didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he wanted to court the thrill.

“Dog boy,” he said, picking up an axe and slinging it over his shoulder, “you wanna patrol?”

Oz looked up from his book and Spike could almost see a feral glint in his eye.

“Sure,” was all the answer he received though.

They left Wesley, who acknowledged their absence with a mere wave of the hand, and set out to find some fun. After hitting a couple of bars  
and talking to the demons they found there, they decided to head toward the other side of town where a Kijick demon had mentioned he’d heard  
rumors of some people disappearing. They spoke to a few people who lived on the street, investigated the alley where most had vanished, felt  
familiar, hated electrical surges to their backs and woke up to find themselves in a cage, weaponless.

“This is bloody embarrassing,” Spike said.

“Yup,” Oz agreed.

“I’m gonna rip the throats out of anybody I ever see with a taser,” Spike decided. “They’re evil.”

“They hurt too,” Oz pointed out.

“When do you think Wes will realize we’re not back?”

“At his concentration level? Two or three days.”

“Perfect,” Spike growled. His grabbed at chance for violence and do-good-ing had been completely railroaded by his unknown captors.

He took note of their surroundings. They were in a warehouse. It was dark, due to the fact that there were no windows, but he could still see  
by bringing his demon to the forefront. There were other cages in the dark with them. Maybe ten altogether. They all held an assortment of  
people, of all ages, genders and ethnicities. Spike estimated about thirty people had been imprisoned. There was one door, on the other side  
of the room, a great sliding one with deadbolts. Bowls of water were in all the cages, with some straw on the bottom of them, presumably for  
comfort. It was not an altogether cheery place. If not for the gloom and capture bit, Spike might have liked it. He described the layout to  
his companion.

“There aren’t any guards,” he said, cocking his head to listen to the outside. “Someone doesn’t know who we are.”

“Just likes fear,” Oz remarked, sniffing the air.

Spike grasped the cage bars and sought to break them with his strength. They didn’t budge.

“I’ve decided I don’t like it here,” he announced.

Oz shrugged.

“It’s better than the Initiative.”

“Right there,” Spike agreed. “I hated that institutionalized, sterile, awful place with its wanker soldiers and chip crazy old biddies.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Oz said, deadpan.

Spike barked a laugh.

“Come on, I know you hated it too.”

“It was the second worse experience of my life,” he said. “Naked, tortured, no Willow, nothing.”

“But I saved you,” Spike said, trying to keep his tone light. They’d never really talked about the Initiative before. It was a part  
of his nightmares and he knew Oz probably had the same ones. They’d even talked about nightmares before but he’d never really been able to dig  
into the other man’s thoughts and past, not having the time or not wanting to break the tenuous friendship they had forged. Spike was rather  
short on comrades at the moment and he wanted to keep the ones he had. Perish the thought that they were an ex-Watcher and a laconic werewolf.

Oz rolled his eyes.

“You helped. Not for good reasons either.”

“Still,” Spike said, “I’ve got to take my good deeds where I can find them. Besides, I’m glad now I could help. It wasn’t a good place.”

“Yeah,” Oz said. “I guess I had it easy though. I wasn’t there for long.”

“It wasn’t good being there long,” Spike said. “In retrospect, it might have saved my life - I never would’ve gone to her otherwise - but it  
was hell.”

“It was humiliating.”

“It smelled.”

“Too bright.”

“Bloody glass doors.”

“Too clean.”

“The pit.”

They looked at each other and for one moment, Spike felt just a little bit better about their situation. He supposed they should be looking  
for a way out of their current predicament, but he couldn’t help but be glad Oz was here with him. It was funny to think about how they had  
had so much in common back at a point where they would not have deigned to talk to the other if they didn’t have to. They’d come from opposite  
sides of the world and really, they couldn’t be more opposite still, but they could understand each other and fight together.

“What should we do?” Oz asked after a moment. “Wait until someone comes?”

“I think we should dig,” Spike said.

The cages didn’t have a bottom. Spike guessed the corners were longer bars implanted within the floor to prevent escape by simply knocking the  
cage over. But since the floor was made of dirt, between the two of them and their supernatural talents, they should be able to get through  
before long.

Oz smiled a little bit and went to work, lengthening and changing his hands into claws. Spike put his own considerable strength into the game  
and before long they had a nice little tunnel going.

“If only this could have worked back then,” Spike said.

“Too easy,” Oz grunted, shoring dirt up behind them.

After a little argument about how deep they ought to make it and whether or not they should reinforce the walls they made it fast and dirty,  
Spike pointing out that time was of great value and they weren’t going that far.

When they made it out, they threaded their way over to the door as quietly as they could, ignoring calls from the other prisoners. No sense in  
that until they knew what they were up against. Spike was able to rip these doors open and then sprang back quickly as the sun started to  
smolder his clothes.

“Bloody sun,” he grumbled. “I’m all mixed up. I should go back to the tunnel.”

“Quiet,” Oz hissed. He went outside to see what he could find. He reappeared about five minutes later with a knife he’d gotten from  
somebody’s open garage. They picked all the locks and set everybody free. The people all rushed out, willy-nilly, with various promises about  
going straight home. It was most likely one or all of them would call the cops and set them on this place. It meant Oz and Spike shouldn’t be  
there if they could help it. Unfortunately, Spike wasn’t going anyplace for at least another hour.

So he waited while Oz went scavenging and came back with an axe which was their only weapon still lying in the alley and they sat down to wait  
for their captors. It seemed to take forever before sundown and Spike was getting awfully bored again when two big men with blackjacks hanging  
from their belts and scars on their arms and stubble on their chins appeared in the distance, walking toward them. They were counting money,  
one slugging back from a dingy bottle. They clearly weren’t concerned. They did, however, stop in their tracks when they saw the open door and  
two armed silhouettes waiting for them.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“How’d you get out? We magicked them bars.”

“Did you magic the dirt too?” Spike asked, showing them his dirt stained hands.

Oz raised his own as evidence.

“We oughtta kill you,” the drunk man replied, weaving as he started forward.

“What were you trying to do?” Oz asked quietly.

The man blinked at him.

“Goods,” he finally mumbled. “You got power.”

“Their victims weren’t random then,” Oz stated.

“Nope,” Spike replied. “Got us some slavers here. Good for nothing, just like the Initiative.”

Oz nodded, just once.

“You working for someone?”

The man without the bottle drew himself up proudly.

“I don’t work for no one. I’m my own man.”

“That makes everything simple,” Oz commented. Spike started to smile, showing all his teeth.

“Bloody right.”

It was late when they got back to the apartment. Wesley hadn’t moved.

“Wes, you’re on fire,” Spike said, on his way to a nice, hot shower.

“Fine, wonderful,” Wesley murmured, without looking up. Spike and Oz shared a look and sighed, solidarity in their glance.

Spike shut the bathroom door, generally satisfied with the events of the last twenty four hours.


End file.
